


Lonely Water (Won't You Let Us Wander)

by xenowhore



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Spideypool - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 17:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9668981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenowhore/pseuds/xenowhore
Summary: "Peter ducks his head and brings his hand up to clasp Wade’s wrist. “Yeah yeah.” Wade’s skin is bumpy and uneven, surprisingly soft, and Peter holds on. His fingers slide down the bone of Wade’s wrist, hesitant and unsure, and he feels Wade step closer to him in the water."





	

**Author's Note:**

> My second Spideypool. Just a fun little drabble. Enjoy!
> 
> The title comes from the song 'Hold Back The River' by James Bay.

“So what I’m trying to say, Pete, is don’t Google ‘Blue Waffle’ ‘cause it’ll ruin ‘em for you forever, and waffles are pretty goddamn great.”

 

It’s 2 A.M in NYC, a swelteringly hot night in July. Peter can feel it in the way his suit slides damp and sticky against his back and he wonders how Wade can even stomach it in all the kevlar and leather. The guy hasn’t even taken his gloves off, and ok, it’s gross but also hilarious watching him lick each finger meticulously to get at the last traces of Sriracha.

 

“That’s gross, dude. Also, can you say unsanitary?”

 

“We can, yeah. S’a big word though, and you know how it makes me feel when you use nerdy words around me.” 

 

Peter licks a dribble of hot sauce off the side of his wrist (much daintier, thank you) and is glad that Wade convinced them to hit up the 24 hour burrito shack. He shakes his head. “I still don’t get it though. Why is the waffle blue?”

 

“Trust me Spidey.” Wade says around an enormous mouthful. “The internet is a dark and terrible place.”

 

Peter shrugs and mentally categorizes the tidbit for later when he’ll stubbornly search it himself. 

 

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Wade says, and he’s squinting at Peter accusingly. “And spiders. You’re  _ so _ gonna Google that shit aren’t you?”

 

Peter laughs. He’s in a great mood -- Wade’s managed to behave himself all night, and they hadn’t run into anyone to break a sweat over. Just your regular purse snatchers and petty thieves, of which New York seemed to have an endless supply of. As Wade once put it; “They’re the candy, New York’s the store, and we’re the kids, Pete.”

 

“We did good tonight.” Peter says and crumples up his burrito wrapper. He effortlessly tosses it yards ahead into a trash bin where it sails through the small hole with ease.

 

“Hole in one, baby boy!” Wade grins and Peter smiles back. The smile fades when he notices Wade’s empty hands.

 

He cocks an eyebrow.

 

“Hey. I didn’t kill  _ anyone  _ tonight. You didn’t even let me break any bones.” he whines, trying to look abashed. “Can’t ruin my street cred. You ‘an Cap can stick to the Golden Boys Club, I’ll be over here littering and corrupting.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes but he can’t be mad, not really. Wade is basically a five year old. A six foot two, two hundred and ten pound five year old with access to high powered assault rifles, but a kid nonetheless. “If you haven’t corrupted me by now, it’s hopeless.” he mutters and there’s Wade’s grin again, all shining white and Hollywood perfect. A diamond in the rough of his face.

 

“Yo, webs. If you haven’t noticed, I’m stubborn.” he quickens his pace until they’re side by side again, slings an arm easily around the shorter man’s shoulders. “I give it a few more weeks, tops. You’ll have an Bea Arthur poster in your cubby at work in  _ no time _ .”

 

“Eh, she’s not my type.” Peter wrinkles his nose delicately, and now he’s fighting a grin as Wade shrieks predictably and vaults in front of him, stops him with a hand to his chest.

 

The white eyeholes of Wade’s mask are huge and disbelieving, his mouth agape. He jerks his hands up and wrenches the mask off dramatically and Peter flinches, only a tiny bit because he still hasn’t gotten used to Wade’s face. Not in the, ‘wow, that’s intense’ way, but because until a couple of weeks ago he never imagined he’d ever see it.

 

“Pete, petey-pie, _ my baby boy.  _ We’ve talked about this. Bea Arthur is  _ everyone’s  _ type.”

 

Peter rolls his head back with a groan, laughing. “I’m not into granny porn, unlike  _ someone _ .”

 

Wade shrugs. “So I dig someone who’s got experience in the bedroom. Sue me. Guaranteed she was bangin’ right up until she kicked the bucket.”

 

“Experience?” Peter pokes Wade in the chest. “Yeah, you guys could talk about the great depression afterwards! That’s some sexy pillow talk. Be still my heart!” he cackles.

 

“Warning you, Parker!” Wade has stopped walking and is cracking his knuckles, rolling his head from side to side. The grin on his face is predatory when Peter turns around with a raised eyebrow. He stops and puts his hands on his hips. “Oh. Is this the part where you tell me it’s on like Donkey Kong?”

 

“Silence! Thou spongy rampallian miscreant!” Wade yells, unsheathing one of his katana’s with a theatrical flourish. He levels it at Peter and squares his shoulders.

 

Peter’s shocked laugh comes all the way up from his belly. “What?! Dude, did...did you just threaten me in  _ Shakespearean _ ?”

 

Wade’s teeth are bared in a fierce grin and Peter can’t help but track the movements of the katana as he propels it through the air -- practiced, effortless moves straight out of a Bruce Lee film. He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Showoff.”

 

Wade breaks character long enough for the grin to turn from evil to giddy. He puffs his chest out. “Yeah?” his voice is hopeful and Peter tries very hard not to laugh. “You’re impossible. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to run with sharp objects?”

 

Wade nods thoughtfully. He’s been advancing slowly on Peter, twirling the sword around him in lazy arcs through the air, ridiculously fast passes from hand to hand that don’t slow his steps a bit. It isn’t impressive or hot at  _ all _ , not even remotely, thank you very much. 

 

Peter is walking backward, trying to hide the smile on his face as he remembers what’s behind him. He lets Wade get within inches of him, expecting a headlock or a snake bite, maybe an old fashioned noogie even, when Wade stops. Peter imagines it; being grabbed and shoved good naturedly into Wade’s midsection. How it would be immediately apparent that he wasn’t using his super strength to get away, not even a little bit. Awkward.

 

Wade surveys his reflection in the polished steel, turning it this way and that in the light of the streetlamps. “Well, these ain’t scissors, Petey. S’true. But they _ are _ pretty great at cutting things in half.”

 

Peter snorts but it’s more laugh than derision. He’s giddy, filled with the energy that radiates from Wade whenever he’s in the merc’s presence. Their flirtatious banter is different tonight and Peter wonders if it’s obvious; if Wade can hear the truth under Peter’s carefully laid sarcasm. 

 

He thinks he probably can.

 

“Well, how convenient. I forgot it was Art’s and Crafts night.” Peter quips.

 

Wade deflates. The effect is not unlike a paper cup folding in on itself. “C’mon Spidey, aren’t you even a  _ little _ scared?” he whines. “I read that shit on a mug and everything. Been practicin’ saying it in front of the mirror.”

 

_ Oh my god, this man _ . Peter thinks.  _ This ridiculous dork who brings me pad thai and texts me meme’s when I’m sad and learns FUCKING SHAKESPEARE to insult me. Wait, impress me?  _ He’s struggling against a flush that he can feel building under the collar of his suit. He knows how easy it would be to ask Wade to come back to his apartment with him, even if there was no promise of a Star Trek marathon and tacos. The guy’s practically the living embodiment of  _ eager _ . 

 

“I’m impressed, Wade, really. Those were like, _ four _ big words. In a row.”

 

Wade’s eyes brighten and he’s smiling again and it’s enough to make the blush spread to the tips of Peter’s ears. “Right? And not just big ones. Old ones, too. Knew you’d be into that nerdy shit.” he’s nodding to himself, drawn up to his full height once more. “That Shakespeare dude was fucking weird but he slayed the pussy. And the cock, probably.”

 

“How do you suddenly know so much about William Shakespeare?” Peter laughs. He swallows thickly, trying not to focus on how the word ‘cock’ sounded coming from Wade’s lips.

 

“There’s this thing called The Internet, Pete.” Wade says conspiratorily, glancing at the shadows around them. “Didn’t believe it myself either, but I bought one of those  _ smart phone  _ contraptions and--”

 

“You’re such a dick!” Peter shoves him and then he’s turning, running, the air cooling the sweat on his face as he pumps his limbs and eases into a full sprint, blood rushing to his ears and laughter bursting up from his throat. Behind him he dimly hears the slide of steel back into a sheath and Wade is shouting obscenities, but he’s small and quick and he’s always been the faster of the two. He makes it to the pond with time to spare.

 

The wood of the dock is swollen from the heat of the day and groans as Peter’s feet thud across it. He runs right to the end and webs himself to a branch overhanging the dark water, his feet leaving the dock at the last possible second. There’s a moment where he’s swinging out in a wide arc and then, with a barely concealed whoop of delight, he lets go.

 

Wade is right on his heels, but his steps slow to a walk as he approaches the end of the dock. Peter’s head crests the surface with a splash and his grin is infectious. It stretches across his face as he treads water and pushes his wild mop of hair out of his eyes.

 

Wade is shaking his head and laughing. He squats, balancing his forearms on his knees as he cocks his head and appraises Peter in the water. “Dude, the fuck they put in your burrito?”

 

Well, it’s a valid question. Peter never does anything like this. He’s not fun; he’s rigidity, structure,  _ rules _ . He is exams and organized desks and schedules, when what he wants is to be more like Wade. Electric and spontaneous. A man who doesn’t hesitate when you hand him a Nerf gun and a map, doesn’t ask why, how. Just grins and fist-pumps and goes along for the ride.

 

Peter swims toward the dock and pulls himself up and rests on his forearms, just slightly breathless. From this angle Wade looks even bigger than usual, and he has to crane his neck to see his face. Well, actually, it’s more to get past the obscene bulge in the suit.  _ Jesus, has it always been that big?  _ “Wade, get your ass in here. It feels  _ ah-mazing.”  _ for emphasis, he splashes at Wade, just enough to wet the toes of his boots.

 

Wade recoils, cat-like. “He-eey! This suit’s expensive, Petey. Don’t know where you get yours done but this is  _ leather. Kevlar.”  _ he pats himself importantly. “‘Sides, people swim in here?” he regards the pond skeptically, nose wrinkled as he leans the slightest bit forward.

 

Peter snorts. “Oh, ‘cause judging from your apartment you’re so concerned about germs.” he ignores Wade’s affronted look and laughs, kicking his legs lazily in the water. “It’s been so hot all day. C’mon! I feel better already.”

 

Wade levels a ‘look’ at him. “The suit, Pete. You can be the weirdo who swims in his all willy-nilly, b--”   
  
“ _ Willy Nilly _ ?”

 

“--but it ain’t happening. Got me a shower at home, all nice and neat, porcelain. Tap, temperature control, Hello Kitty loofa. Axe body wash.”

 

“Ew.”

 

“Bitches love it.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes. He’s leaning back from the dock, arms straight in front of him as he paddles. The words come out of his mouth before his brain has time to register them. “Then take it off.”

 

For a heartbeat or two, Wade’s mouth simply hangs open and Peter is glad for the darkness. Quickly, he shrugs and gestures at Wade, who is quiet and still and scrutinizing him as though he’s suddenly grown a second head. 

 

“I mean, you walk around my apartment half naked all the time.” he can hear how desperately obvious his nonchalance is and wishes he was still wearing his mask.  _ Dork! Total loser! I probably look like a fucking tomato right now. _ “W-what’s the difference?”

 

Wade is silent, probably the longest stretch of quiet Peter has ever experienced in his company, and he can just imagine what the boxes must be shouting at him. Quiet Wade makes Peter uncomfortable. It’s like watching a squirrel who subsists on Redbull suddenly lay down for a nap.

 

He’s two seconds from pulling himself up and out of the water when Wade’s sudden voice startles him out of his mounting panic. “Like, full on nude?”

 

_ Danger, Danger!  _ Peter’s eyes widen as alarm bells start screaming in his head.  _ We have officially reached Defcon Four - we’re going to see Wade’s dick. Mother hugger. _

 

While Peter is busy trying to remember how to speak, Wade shrugs and starts carefully divesting himself of his weapons. The katana’s are the first to go, gingerly laid with reverent care on the dock side by side. Next, he unclasps the belt at his waist. An assortment of knives and handguns later, he’s standing before Peter looking weirdly naked and out of place. 

 

Peter gapes as he watches Wade reaching for zippers and fasteners. “I didn’t, I mean,  _ I’m _ in my s--”

 

“Don’t ever call my bluff, Spidey.

 

“Bluff? I didn’t,  _ what _ ?”

 

“Yep. Had to play the chicken card, didn’t you? Ooh, big strong Deadpool is scared of a little shit swamp! I mean, fuck, baby boy. I have street cred to protect here.”

 

Peter can’t decide if this is the worst or best idea he has ever had.

 

There’s a thud as Wade kicks off his first boot, hopping on one foot as he wrestles with the other. “All I’m saying is there better not be any of those creepy parasites that swim up your piss hole and lay eggs or whatever the hell it is they do.”

 

Peter’s breath is high and his voice comes out strained. “Pretty sure we’re safe here.”

 

Wade kicks the last boot off and stands, triumphant. “All I’m saying is I’ve had it shot off, Pete. Cut off, blown up. Y’know? Ain’t never had a parasitic worm crawl up it but it’s not on my bucket list.” with an obscene grin, he grabs a generous fistful and adjusts himself. 

 

“Oh my  _ god _ , Wade.”

 

“Don’t go soft on me dude.” and then Wade is peeling the upper half of the suit off. He shrugs out of it and Peter’s mind blanks, all coherent thought and witty comebacks flying out the window at the sight of Wade’s chest. It’s not fair, really - Peter with his gymnast's body, lean and long and giving anything to have a quarter of the muscle definition Wade carries. The man is a solid wall, like something out of Arnold’s Book Of Bodybuilding. He’s even got that  _ goddamn vee  _ that vanishes like a trail of breadcrumbs into the waist of the suit.   
  
He is not staring. He’s _ not _ .

 

“Like what you see, Petey pie?” Wade waggles the place where his eyebrows should be and Peter almost laughs. Almost. He’s too busy sinking up to his ears in the pond as he treads slowly away from the dock.

 

“Can’t believe I’m doin’ this.” a snort. “It’s like you’re somethin’ special. You even think about somebody walkin’ by? That’d be a good one for the Daily Bugle. Spiderman and Random Burn Victim seen having streamy rendezvous in Central Park!” Wade shimmies his hips and then stands one socked foot on the bottom half of his left pant leg, pulling and kicking and swearing as he struggles out of the pants. “Jesus  _ fuckin’ _ Christ, Petey, like pullin’ a snake inside out, I swear.”

 

“At least it’s not spandex, right?” Peter’s voice bubbles up from the water and Wade laughs. He’s standing at the end of the dock in his Captain America boxer briefs, hands on his hips as he takes a glance around the pond, and then Peter’s brain shuts down as Wade  _ peels _ the fabric down and steps out of them.

 

“Motherfucker! I forgot my water wings!” Wade grumbles, and then he’s taking a few steps back and running to the end of the dock and Peter only realizes at the last second what he means to do.

 

“CANONBALL!” 

 

One would think that having a two hundred and ten pound man land on top of you in the water would be a death sentence. Fortunately for Peter Parker, aerial gymnast and possessor of super strength and rapid healing extraordinaire, his life only flashes before his eyes for a millisecond before there are two arms hauling him back above the surface.

 

“Holy  _ fuck _ Petey, goddamn, my badness!” Wade’s bald head is like beacon in the darkness surrounding them and Peter focuses on it, his head swimming and lights dancing in his eyes. “Dude, I  _ so _ miscalculated that.”

 

Peter blinks away the last vestiges of confusion in the cage of Wade’s arm and struggles, spitting mad as he pushes away from the merc. “Dude! What the hell?! You could have killed me!”

 

Wade runs one hand over the top of his misshapen head, his face all grinning chagrin. “Nah, I think you’re a pretty tough guy to put in the ground.”

 

Peter splashes his face. “How does a mercenary miscalculate? Aren’t you like, one of the deadliest snipers in the world?”

 

“It’s dark!” Wade whines. “Besides, s’not like I was looking down the barrel, dude.”

 

“Speaking of barrels, you need to put yours away. Jesus, Wade. You couldn’t have left the shorts on?”

 

Wade snorts and rolls his eyes. “Petey Petey Petey. When did you become such a prude? A dick’s a dick. You seen one you’ve seen ‘em all. ‘Course, mine  _ is _ a bit harrowing.”

 

Peter begins swimming away, heading for the shoreline where the tree he webbed from stands. He can hear the water splashing behind him as Wade follows, and he’s surprised when the bigger man passes him, easily pulling ahead. Peter feels the silt under his toes as he touches down, disturbed pebbles and small weeds squishing underfoot. Wade stands up too, and rubs the water from his face.

 

“Try to cool off and I nearly get killed.” Peter mutters, half to himself and half to Wade, who winces and bites his bottom lip. 

 

“We’re still cool right? I don’t have to come pack up my XBox or anything?” the water hits Wade just below his pectorals, and Peter can’t help but send surreptitious glances at all the scarred skin on full display.

 

Peter huffs a laugh, quiet. “We’re cool, Wade. You’re just lucky I’m tough.” 

 

Wade is looking at him, his dark eyes roving over Peter’s face, his teeth worrying his bottom lip between them and Peter suddenly realizes he genuinely feels bad. He knows he couldn’t  _ actually  _ hurt Peter, but the guilt on his face deepens by the second until Peter feels the bizarre urge to pull the guy into a hug. “Wade, really, it’s---”

 

“I got excited.” Wade cuts him off, and Peter closes his mouth and waits. He looks down at the water and Peter watches his eyes darting back and forth, watches the tiny movements of his lips as he mutters at the boxes. When he looks back up, Peter feels his throat constrict at the pain in his eyes. “Not often I get invited to go  _ swimming _ , you know?” his voice is all hurt edges and self loathing, and as he realizes this he tries to cover the ends of it with a laugh, but Peter catches it and puts his hand out to clasp Wade’s shoulder. 

 

He ignores Wade’s flinch. “Dude, it’s cool. I get it, really. I mean, you know that shit doesn’t matter with me, right?” Peter tries to catch Wade’s eyes but they stare fixedly at the dock over his shoulder. “Right?”

 

“Yeah.” Wade shrugs his massive shoulders and it’s the most unconvincing thing Peter has ever seen. He wants to keep saying all the nice things that are popping up in his head. For all his bravado and laughter, he knows that every time Wade shows his skin around Peter, it chips away at him just a little bit more. Instead, he asks a question.

 

“Does the water...does it help?” 

  
Wade’s eyes snap to Peter’s and there’s genuine confusion for a moment. “Eh?”

 

“The scars. Your skin.” Peter makes his voice casual but gentle. “Does the water feel good?”

 

Wade tilts his head as he considers his answer. “Well, shit, Pete. I mean, I dunno know what to tell you. The last time my skin felt  _ good _ was, Hell…” and he trails off, thinking. He shrugs again, and cups a handful of water up to splash against his chest. “Can’t remember.” he taps his head once, twice. A tired smile breaks across the ruins of his face. 

 

Peter is an asshole. He is a huge, oblivious asshole who has never once, in all the time he has known Wade as a person, asked him what it feels like to be him. To know what it feels like to come back from being blown to bits, to feel your blood and bones and muscle regenerate, bit by excruciating bit. To have a body constantly ravaged by cancer and pain stuck in an endless loop of physical misery that can’t be dulled by anything.

 

Not even a bullet.

 

Wade laughs at the look on Peter’s face. “Yep. Pretty much a big ‘ol dumpster fire.”

 

Peter blanches. “W-wade, I didn’t---”

 

“Nah.” Wade splashes at him gently, and Peter is relieved to see what looks like a genuine grin tugging at the corners of Wade’s mouth. “I might be a bit socially retarded, but I know when someone feels sorry for me. And,” he moves forward in the water until he’s close enough that Peter can feel the warmth radiating from him. “it’s not on my list.”

 

“Your list?” Peter knows what he sounds like, this close to the wall of heat and marred skin and muscle. He sounds like a fair maiden with a corset too tight.

 

“Yup. My list of shit that turns my crank. I ain’t into kinkshaming, but if one of yours is throwing pity parties for friends, hard pass.”

 

“I don’t feel sorry for you, Wade.” Peter says softly, even though he does. If Wade sees it, he lets it pass.

 

“Good. ‘Cause fuck, I sure as hell don’t! I’ve got the lukewarm lagoon water caressin’ my jewels, having myself an epic bromance moment with  _ Spiderman! _ ” his grin is infectious and Peter laughs despite himself. 

 

“There we go.” Wade laughs softly, and he chucks Peter on the chin. “There’s that dorky arachnid smile I dig so much.”

 

Peter ducks his head and brings his hand up to clasp Wade’s wrist. “Yeah yeah.” Wade’s skin is bumpy and uneven, surprisingly soft, and Peter holds on. His fingers slide down the bone of Wade’s wrist, hesitant and unsure, and he feels Wade step closer to him in the water.

 

Neither of them say a word. Peter can feel the fan of Wade’s breath against his face, can see the rise and fall of his chest as his hand slides down to grasp his elbow. He hangs there, his fingers unsure, his own breathing erratic and fast as a hot flush creeps up his neck.

 

“Pete?” Wade’s voice is a deep, scared murmur. Peter’s not sure, not entirely, but he thinks he might be shaking.

 

“Shut up.” he whispers into the space between them, and then he’s lifting his head and Wade is moving forward to meet him and they’re kissing.

 

It’s not even a kiss, not really. They’re both too scared and stupid to call it anything other than a brush of their lips, shared breath. But then Peter’s thumb smooths itself over a particularly big scar, dips inside it and presses and Wade makes a whimpering noise and Peter can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except open his mouth to the taste of sriracha and skin and  _ Wade. _

 

When they break apart, Peter’s sure--he’s shaking. He’s simultaneously cold where the water still clings to his skin and distressingly hot everywhere else. His hand moves from the crook of Wade’s elbow up to cup his face, his thumb spreading across cheekbones that make him think of the moon. 

 

Wade turns into it and his laugh comes out shaky, a ghost of hot air against Peter’s palm. He finds Peter’s other hand in the water and threads their fingers together, Peter’s smaller and delicate, silk and wool. 

 

“I know now, Peter.” Wade says, and there’s a lightness and wonder in his voice that Peter has never heard before. It makes him go still in the water, and he squeezes Wade’s hand gently in question and holds his breath. “Yeah?” he says, and his voice is breathy,  _ wrecked _ . He doesn’t care.

 

“Yeah.” Wade squeezes his hand back. “What  _ good _ feels like.”


End file.
